Storymakers: Wanted Part 5

Not the bald, fat shopkeeper-his voice had been harsh and grating. Not Morte or Mordred either. The voice behind me had a musical quality, a rise and fall that charmed the ears. A sound that made you think of a rakish smile and the warm autumn sun. Or it used to. Now hearing it so unexpectedly, it snuck into my soul, as crafty as the man it belonged to and, just as quick, shred it to pieces.

"C'mon, boy. I don't have all day. Turn around careful like, with no sudden movements."

Don't do it, those broken pieces of my soul screamed. Run. Never look back. Never let them see you cry.

Except I was literally in a corner. There was nowhere to run.

I am a child of the trees. Though the wind may howl, I will not break, I rea.s.sured myself.

Plastering a mask on my face, I turned and smirked at Robin Hood.

"Long time no see, Dad."

The prince of thieves stared at me for a good thirty seconds before recognition lit up and widened his moss-green eyes.

"Rexi?!" he whisper shouted, all signs of composure abandoned.

Breaking his cool soothed some of my cracks like poultice.

I am a child of the trees. Though the wind may howl, I will not break. Not for you. Never for you.

"Eyesight failing you a bit, old man? Or maybe you never thought you'd see me again after you sold me off to that moldy green hag?"

He stepped back, putting his hands up in front of him. "Shhh. It wasn't like that."

"Oh, it wasn't?" I railed. "Maybe your memory is as warped as mine, but I can't imagine another scenario where the master of thieves forgot to steal back his own daughter. I was there. I saw you. You came, then you used me to pay off taxes and left me to rot in Emerald!"

Anger and yelling wasn't stealth, but it was either that or dissolve into tears.

I'd rather die for real.

The p.a.w.nbroker snorted loudly and jerked, knocking over some of his goods before settling down again.

"Did I teach you nothing?" Dad set his crossbow to the side and grabbed a coin purse from a hidden compartment under the till. "Your whining can wait until we're done here."

Wrong thing to say.

"Oh, spell no-"

Dad stopped retreating and rushed me, putting his hands over my mouth. I did the only sensible thing. I bit him.

At that point, a lot of things happened at once. Dad yowled. DumBeau came cras.h.i.+ng through the door, bringing the support beam I'd attached his leash to with him. The racket snapped the p.a.w.nbroker to attention. He grabbed one of his stock of Excalibur knockoffs and came lumbering toward us much faster than his girth suggested he was capable of, especially with a portion of the roof raining down around him.

"Now, look at what you've done. Haven't changed a bit, I see," Dad said, breaking into a run-but not before grabbing what he could on the way out.

"Me?" I said, sprinting faster, pa.s.sing him. "Here's a news flash. Your debt is paid in full and your daughter died. So from now on, pretend you don't know me."

We made it outside while the p.a.w.nbroker picked his way through the debris. Dad snagged my hood and yanked, pulling me to him in a crus.h.i.+ng embrace.

"Hey. Get off."

That only made him hold tighter.

"Stupid, willful child. I never thought I'd see you again. This isn't over. I'll lead him away and meet you at the tree house." He trailed off, then reached low and tossed me straight up into the air as if I weighed less than a leaf.

Swallowing a shriek, I grabbed a branch and hung on, taking shelter in the trees as Dad bolted into the forest, the p.a.w.nbroker chasing after him.

"Newly Reduced Price: The perfect cookie-cutter home for anyone with a sweet tooth. Plenty of upgrades, but needs a new oven. Motivated sellers. MUST SEE!"

-Rumpel's Real Estate Brokers.

9.

Home Decrepit Home.

I bit my lip, half to stop it from trembling and half to stop from screaming curses after my father. Like one hug and leading the fat baldy away would make up for leaving me for SIX YEARS?! He could go to rot for all I cared. I didn't need his approval. His love.

"Argh. Do you hear me? I don't need you!" I scoffed at him even though he was out of earshot. "You must be snorting pixie dust if you think I'm gonna fall for this again. That I'll go wait for you not to come back for me."

And yet, as soon as it was safe to jump down from my hiding place, my feet still headed to the treetops I'd grown up in rather than taking the fastest way out of the woods and back to the land of Fairy Tales. "The merry men's camp is sort of on the way," I rationalized.

In the same way that if you kept turning left, you'd eventually go right.

My footsteps started off slow, but soon they quickened, maxing out my speed. I raced back to the home of my youth, hoping that maybe just this once....

A smile split my face even as my nerves and the jogging made my tummy roil. What would Will and Tuck say when they saw me after so long? Had they wondered where I'd gone? I'd never managed to be one of the boys, but they'd tolerated me while I tried.

Fryer Tuck in particular took care of me when the guys' relentless teasing proved too much. We'd kept vigil over the campfires and grills together, and Tuck had taught me the subtle art of revenge: spitting or putting boogers in Will's food.

The skill proved quite useful in the Emerald kitchens.

For years, I'd kept most of my merry girl memories locked tight in a corner of my mind, but I freed them now. I could hear my childhood giggles in the rustling of the leaves. I could feel the thrill of climbing trees and leaping from branch to branch like a flying squirrel. I was better at it than any other-even if I always came up short in the archery and looting departments. Sure, I could swipe all manner of little, broken, discarded trinkets, but that didn't pay the bribes or the taxes.

Still, I'd proudly bring Dad all the old pots and slipped horseshoes I'd found in the forest. He'd sigh and pat my head, then send me off to Tuck to fry up some food while he went back out to rob from the rich and give to the poor. And given that we lived in trees, there really wasn't anyone poorer than us.

But it had been a good life, and I missed it fiercely when I was in a soft bed during my Emerald imprisonment. A daring thought darted through my head. Perhaps this was where my story was supposed to go, now that I was free of that Emerald nonsense. I didn't need a new life; I could just go back to my old one-my pre-Dorthea life.

The idea was fragile and shattered the moment I got within view of the encampment. There were no campfires, none of the raucous merriment that had given the gang its name. Ladders still hung from the trees, but the vines were tattered and rotted through. Pieces of the tree house's boards lay scattered around the forest floor. The trees themselves were twisted; some looked like they were snarling, with their branches reaching high into the sky as if cursing it. Others bent low, almost as if they were weeping. The only things living here were wingding bats. They mocked me from their perches with their red, s.h.i.+ning, beady eyes.

Anger toward Dorthea surged through me, and for a moment, I tried to pretend that she was to blame. Her carelessness had thrown the entire magics of Story in disarray, had brought the trees to life, had broken all the rules of Fairy Tales, so wasn't it possible that her wish had ravaged this place? But even I'm not that good of a liar. The smell of decay alone told me that the forest had reclaimed this little piece of land from the merry men a long time ago. I doubt Dad had been here for years. Or that he was ever coming back, for that matter.

Hope is so much crueler than terror or fear. I despised myself for allowing it to sneak back under my defenses.

Kato was right-I was a fool.

"Fool's errand indeed."

I hated hearing Morte, yet a shot of adrenaline coursed through me as my shadow grew again from the light cast from a lantern nearby. A branch snapped near the light. Even as I looked, I knew better, knew it wouldn't be him.

Grimm, I hated being so cynical. Yet I hated being right even more.

Mordred stood near the lake, holding the lantern and reins as if he'd just watered his horse. He dropped both of them in favor of his ax when he saw me.

"Oh hex, really?" I said to the universe that was bringing royals back into life just to pix me over.

A frown tugged on the lips of the legendary dark prince. "Nay, I am not a pract.i.tioner and have not a spell, but an ax to blind. Explain fast why you follow me or meet it up close."

"You have a talent of being too literal, and I have an epically bad talent of being at the wrong place at the wrong time." I rolled my eyes and threw my arms out. "Come here and get it over with already."

"Eager to see me again, little hero?" Morte said in a deep, mocking lilt. "I'm flattered."

"You wish, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Demented."

Mordred's frown deepened, and though he had been coming toward me, he stopped. Perhaps he was unsure if it was fair to slice open a crazy person. Normally I'd encourage that sort of thinking, but I had a plan. Ish.

I needed him to come forward...oh...about four more feet. I also needed the trap Will and Tuck had laid there to still be active.

"Are you speaking to me, lad?"

I sighed, having second thoughts about leading someone so dense into a trap.

He took a slow step and leaned forward, examining me up and down again. "You have an unusually high-pitched voice and are fair of face. If ye were naught as flat as a scabbard, I'd think thee a maiden."

Second thoughts gone.

"Iron and ashes," I swore, trying to mimic Kato's curse and gravelly tone. "I never thought to see the dark prince simper like a damsel."

That did it. His hesitant steps lengthened to a purposeful stride.

Three. Four.

Snap.

A vise sprung up from the ground and closed around Mordred's foot. The mechanism had a rope trailing off it, and the springs were tight, yet not sharp. No more than a nuisance, really.

"Twill take more than this," Mordred growled and raised his ax, ready to hack at the rope.

I whistled high and sharp to stop him. "I wouldn't do that." I pointed to the rest of the trap. The one that would fire a poisoned arrow a second after the rope went slack.

He altered the course of his ax right as it brushed against the first strand of rope. "A devious trick."

"Eh. All's fair in disdain and war."

He furrowed his brow. "That is not how the saying goes, I believe."

"Duh."

His jaw ticked back and forth. I couldn't tell if he was fighting a begrudging smile or grinding his teeth. "Dare I hope that there be a way to disarm such foul trickery?"

I sat down on a nearby rock. "Feel free to hope, but if you want my help, there's a price."

His eyes narrowed. "A goodly man and n.o.ble hero would never demand ransom to spare a life."

I could only imagine that my grin looked as wicked as it felt. "Who said I was a hero?"

"Rule #32: If perchance you run afoul of wolf or bear, never fear. Hold on to your cape and help yourself to a wee snack and wait for a huntsman to come to the rescue."

-Definitive Fairy-Tale Survival Guide, Volume 3: Enchanted Forests.

10.

Wet Behind the Ears.

I expected him to hurl curses or maybe even his ax at me. I didn't expect deep, rumbly laughter that echoed through the forest like thunder.

"I suppose it was too much to hope that someone like you wouldst be a naive charlatan aspiring to become one of the great knights of legend."

"What do you mean 'someone like me'?" I folded my arms, trying to hide the discomfort his statement gave me.

"'Twas meant as a compliment. So-called heroes are oft martyrs with flawed ideals who sacrifice themselves and take their followers with them. I can't abide such idiocy."

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "So says the villain of his story. I know who you are. I know you killed Arthur and died trying to take his throne." I watched Mordred's face set into hard lines. But he didn't dispute what I'd said.

"The ends justify being mean."

The means, I thought but didn't poke him further. Every tense muscle in his body was battle worn and screamed trouble. I could have, should have, left him. He was smart and agile enough, he might have been able to get out of the trap unharmed-mostly. And if he didn't make it, not my problem. He likely deserved it. But if he really was the Mordred from legend, he'd already been entered into the compendium. Despite that, he was standing before me, and he was death impaired, like me.

I couldn't go back to Dorthea. Dad had abandoned me again. I had been delusional if I'd thought being away from the House of Emerald meant I could get clear of Morte's shadow. Verte's prophecy rang in my ears. Rexi will cease to exist. The feeling of slowly losing my memories and myself to Morte...

I needed to be free from everything that bound me, and I was starting to be far less picky about how I got there. "If you want me to disarm the trap, tell me how you came back to life and why."

"Then I suppose my blood shall run twice upon this ground, as I cannot tell you what I don't know."

I bent down and flicked the trap rope menacingly. "Nice try."

"Truth is truth. Thou hast the upper hand, so a wise man would tell all he knows. All I can do is tell mine story and let it be judged if it be worthy." He waited. Watching me.

I huffed and crossed my arms. "Fine, but I don't have all night. And try talking normal. Your wordy drivel makes my brain hurt."

"As thou...you wish."